


sinner like me

by sinnerlikeme



Series: daisybucky. [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Mild Angst, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-13 22:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerlikeme/pseuds/sinnerlikeme
Summary: “guess we’re both sinners, then, huh?” he said quietly in a reconciled way.the corner of her mouth turned up a little. “yeah,” she whispered. “you’re a sinner like me.”





	sinner like me

**Author's Note:**

> **tw:** panic attacks, mentions of abuse/torture, depression, ptsd
> 
>   
>  wrote this in a little over a day! i’ve always wanted to write something like this :) i love au’s where rogue!daisy finds bucky. 

She shows up one night. Knocks three times. Stands out in the snow until he answers.

He opens the door. Is surprised for a moment. Then he sighs and says, “I knew you’d find me.”

She smirks. Arches an eyebrow. “You don’t cover your tracks very well, Sergeant.”

A tight, dry smile. “I’m not as good at it as I used to be,” he tells her, a bit wearily.

Silence falls like the flurrying snowflakes. Their eyes meet, mahogany brown and ocean blue. Hers are unreadable. His speak a thousand words.

He swallows hard, realizing he can’t get out of this. “Would you like to come in?” he asks. Ever so politely.

He steps aside to allow her to cross the threshold into the tiny wooden cottage. He locks the door behind her.

  

* * *

 

A year and a half ago, they met at a bar in Bucharest. 

Two ghosts converged in the same spot. Both running away from something. Both inexplicably drawn to that place for an evening.

She walked in, raccoon eyes flicking from person to person, automatically searching for hostiles or just SHIELD agents sent to bring her home. She looked to her left and her gaze landed on the man seated in a corner booth by the window, alone, sober unlike everybody else.

She took in his mildly disheveled appearance. His dark hair reached his shoulders, face shadowed by the rim of his grey cap. A brawny torso under a flannel shirt with a worn beige jacket draped beside him. Distracted, he was scribbling in a battered journal marked with red and blue stickers. 

She knew it was him without having to check the file. You chase someone long enough you stop needing to.

She went up to him cautiously, curling her fist, subconsciously prepared for a fight. Apparently he was, too, because she noticed his gloved left hand twitch.

He raised his eyes from his journal to her face, impassive before fear stole the faint color from his scruffy cheeks.

“You’re a hard man to find,” she told him, trying not to sound accusatory.

His square jaw clenched. Eyes dilated. “Maybe I don’t want to be found.”

Her heart was thumping, a rhythmic pounding in her ears. But she pressed on, courageous. “I can relate to that.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Then why are you looking for me?” His deep voice had a rasp to it, like he hadn’t done much talking prior to this.

Truthfully, she didn’t truly know why she went after him. It wasn’t to do him harm or expose his identity to the public. She’d been researching him prior to her departure and now she simply had a reason to track him down. Just because she could. Just because she wanted to.

She answered honestly: with a shrug. “Dunno, actually. But I’m running away, too.”

His wary eyes swept over her, taking in her borderline gothic ensemble. “From what?”

“Myself.” Again, she shrugged. Like the implications of that didn’t carry the weight of too many deaths and too many people left to lose.

He leaned back in his booth, chewing his tongue, scrutinizing her. “How do I know you’re not one of them?”

She knew who he was talking about. “Well, you don’t,” she acknowledged bluntly. “But I can make you trust me.”

Bad choice of words. “Nobody makes me do anything.” His tone turned to ice. How fitting.

She sighed through her nose, closing her eyes. “Sorry, I…didn’t mean it like that.”

He pressed his lips together until they formed a nervous pink line. He fidgeted with his pencil. Probably planned to stab her with it if necessary.

“Can I sit?” She nodded to the empty seat across from him when he said nothing for another few seconds. 

He gave her an incredulous look, wondering if she was serious, but something in her face—the eyes, maybe, even rimmed in smudged black—made him say yes. He saw a bit of himself there for a moment, a troubled, lonely soul stuck between heaven and hell on earth. How could he deny that?

She slithered into the seat, depositing her heavy backpack next to her. He marked his spot in his journal with the pencil and hid it in his jacket.

“Well, you already know who I am,” he said, folding his beefy arms. “Who are you?”

“I’m Daisy,” she murmured. “Though people like to call me ‘Quake’ these days.”

He jerked his chin in recognition at the name. “I caught a glimpse of a news broadcast one time. They said you’re a criminal.”

She fidgeted uncomfortably, biting her lip. “Yeah,” was her quiet, guarded response.

He studied her again for a moment, then something funny occurred to him, because he chuckled. “Here I am, taking odd jobs to afford a crappy apartment. I may as well rob a bank or two. See where that gets me.” His eyes glinted with an emotion she couldn’t discern. “Don’t blame ya, though. Life on the run is tough.”

She snickered. “Join me in my vigilante ways. Let’s rob banks and live in my van together.”

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “You live in a van? You steal money but you live in a van?”

She scrunched her nose. “It’s a mobile home,” she corrected defensively. “And I can’t settle anywhere, unlike you.” His smile faded. “How long you been here?”

“Couple months.” He traced the wood shapes in the table with an absentminded fingertip. “I’ll be gone soon, though,” he sighed.

“Where will you go next?” She wasn’t trying to be nosy. She was just curious. She had to be careful about her destinations. 

He shrugged. “Don’t know,” he answered truthfully, then gazed out the window. He laughed quietly again. “Jamaica,” he joked. 

“Tahiti,” she blurted. “I hear it’s a magical place.” She spread her hands and waggled her fingers for dramatic effect.

He smiled a sweet, genuine smile then, endeared by the sudden softness between them. “Take me there sometime,” he teased.

She nodded once and gave him a funny little two-fingered salute. “Can do, chief.”

“I think you mean ‘captain.’”

“What about ‘sergeant?’”

“Neither is fine, actually.”

No one had called him _sergeant_ in decades. Oddly, he didn’t flinch when she said it. Intentionally or not. 

Things got quiet, but not the awkward kind of quiet. Just quiet. For a minute and twelve seconds. 

Then, “You said you had an apartment?”

A knowing smile. “Why, your van break down?”

She gave him a look. “I don’t have it with me. I left it in the US.”

He wanted to laugh. The constant chill in his chest prevented him from doing it. “Right.” He paused. “You wanna stay with me tonight?”

“Depends if you trust me yet. You trust me yet?”

He gazed at her pretty, pretty face with the dark, dark eyes—sad, lost eyes, pools of black—and decided. Yes. He did. Weirdly, unexpectedly. Almost like he was supposed to.

He couldn’t shake that feeling. But he didn’t shy away from it, either.

They left without buying a drink. Perhaps that was more dangerous for people like them.

 

* * *

 

His apartment was small. Shabby. Cold. He probably couldn’t afford to heat it. 

“I would’ve cleaned up a bit if I had known company was coming,” he muttered, pretending to be put-off. He wasn’t. Not really.

She laughed quietly, gazing around. “Hey, I live in a van,” she reminded him. “I won’t judge.” 

He didn’t think she would regardless. She had the look of somebody who knows all too well what it’s like to be alone. To cherish whatever luxuries you can get.

“Still,” he sighed, tucking his journal under his mattress, “I’m sure your van is much nicer.”

Her full lips quirked into a smile, eyes glittering. “Oh, yeah. It’s like a castle fit for a queen.”

He grinned, taken with her humor. “You don’t view yourself as royalty, though.”

She wrinkled her nose. Shook her head at the idea. “Hell no.”

She hauled her backpack off her shoulder and put it in a chair. The gun at the bottom thudded against the wood. He heard the sound and stiffened.

“Sounds like you got some heavy cargo in that thing,” he commented, nodding to it.

She shrugged. “Mostly clothes and shit. My laptop. And a gun.” She chose to honest about that. “You can never be too careful.”

“The hell you need a gun for, earthquake girl?” He rose an eyebrow and she huffed a laugh, embarrassed. 

She didn’t answer right away, instead looked down at her forearms, clad in long sleeves. She sighed resignedly before rolling one up, exposing a patch of nasty purple bruises that crawled to her black-painted fingertips. He stepped closer to get a better look, eyes wide, horrified.

His mouth fell open. “Is this what happens when…?” He didn’t know how to describe it.

She understood, nodding. “Yeah. Without my gauntlets—uh, arm protectors, basically—the vibrations affect my bones.”

“Does it hurt?” Probably a dumb question, since it looked like she needed medical care.

“Well, yeah,” she mumbled, flexing her fingers and wincing. “Nothing painkillers can’t fix, though.” 

“You steal a lot of those, too?” It came out sounding harsher than intended. 

“No, I have someone who does that for me. My friend, Elena.”

He paused. “Is she like you?” Meaning, can she cause deadly earthquakes. 

“An Inhuman, yeah.” She covered her arm again then fixed her beanie to give her hands something to do. “She runs super fast. As far as she can go in one heartbeat.”

“Oh. So you’re all different?” He only heard about these Inhumans once in passing, similar to how he caught a glimpse of the story on Quake in a newspaper.

“Each of us are given a gift. To…fill an evolutionary need at the time.” A distant sadness filled her eyes. He sensed she was repeating somebody else’s words. 

He jerked his chin at her bruised arms. “So your gift is to shake the earth. What for? You figured that out yet?” 

“No,” she sighed. “I guess I’m still waiting for my moment.” Her tone was mocking, like she was poking fun at herself.

“Aren’t we all,” he agreed, and she smiled wickedly.

“Gee. Makes me wonder what you’d be if you were one of us.”

He pondered that for a moment. “Invisible. I’d want to turn invisible.”

She frowned thoughtfully. She didn’t need to ask why.

“So, your gift,” he continued, treading lightly. “I saw that you broke apart an entire bridge. What else can you do? What’s your magnitude?”

She grinned. “I’ve been told I could rip continents in half,” she told him casually. 

He stared at her. Dumbfounded. Impressed. “No shit,” he ultimately breathed. 

“I can also crush you from the inside out.” She waggled her fingers threateningly. “So don’t test me.”

“Right. But you won’t hurt me.” A statement, not a request.

“Not unless you hurt me first. But you’re not gonna do that.”

He might. If provoked. If he was forced to. His face darkened, the monster in his head stirring. “How do you know I won’t?” he asked hoarsely.

“Because,” she replied simply, “if you didn’t like me, or thought I was here to kill you, you would’ve taken me out by now.”

He shook his head quickly. “No. No, I wouldn’t. I don’t do that anymore.”

“So you’re saying if I had tried to kill you at any point tonight, you wouldn’t have fought me?”

She saw his metal fist clench. He nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured, avoiding her eyes. Those beautiful, lonely eyes.

“That’s borderline suicidal, y’know,” she said gently. “To be willing to let someone kill you.”

He stared pointedly at the corner of his refrigerator. “They’d be doing the world a favor.” 

“I don’t believe that. If anyone in this room deserves to die, it’s me.”

He raised his eyebrows, startled by the sudden venom in her words. “No you don’t,” he insisted, wondering how she could be worse than him. 

She scoffed. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” she muttered, lip curling. Her eyes flashed.

“Try me.” He spread his hands. “Confess your sins, earthquake girl. I’ve got all damn day.”

  

* * *

 

Her life story was a lot gloomier than he expected. And, as it turns out, she wasn’t lying about being guilty. 

He just didn’t agree that she deserved to die.

Which made him realize that perhaps he didn’t, either.

“So that’s why you left.” Another statement. Not a question. “You’re trying to keep them safe.”

Leaning against the counter behind her, ankles crossed, she nodded. “It’s what’s best.”

He ran because he had no other option. She ran because she thought it was the _only_ option.

Lying on his ratty mattress, he stared up at the ceiling. His head spun with everything she had told him, from finding then losing her psychopathic parents to the tragic death of her boyfriend—that sent her over the edge, made her “wake up” and realize her presence would only continue to harm people if she didn’t leave. 

He couldn’t argue that bad things happened—both to and because of her—but he didn’t think what this parasitic Inhuman did to her is her fault. It reminded him of his abuse and torture, how he was programmed to do terrible things. He’s killed people. He has blood on his hands, no doubt. But hearing a similar story from her perspective put that _into_ perspective. How could he condemn himself for mind control when this girl went through the same thing?

“I don’t think you stuck around long enough to hear this,” he began softly, “but it wasn’t your fault.”

She looked unseeingly at her hands. Still as a statue. “It is, though,” she whispered, so quietly a person without supersoldier hearing would’ve missed it. “I did those things. It might’ve been because of Hive, but…it’s not like I wasn’t aware of my actions. I wasn’t the real me, but I did it.” She shrugged.

_It wasn’t the real me, but I did it._ Just like it wasn’t the real Bucky Barnes assassinating people. He hurt innocents, too. But it wasn’t the real him.

He sighed, pulling himself into a sitting position. He took his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. Her eyes followed his vibranium digits, almost looking curious.

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t comfort her, because he had no idea how to help himself.

“Guess we’re both sinners, then, huh?” he said quietly in a reconciled way. 

The corner of her mouth turned up a little. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You’re a sinner like me.” 

Prior to her, he didn’t have a single soul who could understand him. But now there she was, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere, saying she’d been looking for him. A tiny Asian girl with earthquakes at her fingertips, running from angels to save them from her demons. No bad soul would be selfless enough to do that.

What does that make him, then? He has nothing. Nobody to love. He hides to avoid capture from Hydra. He hides to avoid his past. He wants to start over but he’s caught in a loop. People are after him, only one with the intent to reunite, not harm. He has severe brain damage, memory loss, depression. PTSD, probably. Fit with a clunky prosthetic arm he didn’t consent to. Who is he in this new world? What is he holding on to? What does he have to live for, really?

The captain’s bruised, bloody face flashed in his head—he did that. He hurt his friend.

_“I’m with you til the end of the line,”_ the captain rasped before the helicarrier crumbled from beneath him and he fell to the water.

He remembers a skinny, feisty blond with bony fists that always swung a little too late. 

One person. He lives for one person. Someone he barely knows now. 

He looked at the broken, angry soul sitting in front of him, for a long, long minute. He felt for her. Deeper than he knew he was capable of.

If she stayed, he’d have two people. If she stayed, she’d have somebody else to lose.

She raised her head and met his eyes. “I should go,” she murmured, but made no move to stand.

He shook his head. “No, you can stay. As long as you want to. I don’t mind.”

She nodded at his makeshift bed. “There’s only room for one, y’know.”

He chuckled and got to his feet. “It’s all yours, earthquake girl. I don’t sleep much anyway.” 

She bit her lip. Hesitating. “You have bad dreams, too?”

A sad smile. A single nod. He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t have to. 

As she kicked off her combat boots and took his spot, grateful to have somewhere safe to sleep, she mumbled, “Your file’s in my backpack.” 

“My what?” Obviously she knew about him from somewhere, but it never occurred to him SHIELD kept records on him. How creepy. 

He turned to ask her to clarify but she was already asleep. With a sigh, he gingerly opened her backpack and reached for the manila folder about himself. “File: Barnes, James Buchanan” was stamped on the front. He looked at the name for a second, jarred by its significance. The captain’s voice echoed in his ears.

Glancing at the sleeping woman, he sat down in the opposite chair, then opened the folder.

  

* * *

 

She awoke to the memory of electricity hitting her chest, knocking her backward off the quinjet.

Eyes wide open, she stared at the wall until her heart slowed down.

She remembered where she was several seconds later, and flipped over onto her back to sit up straight. The apartment was filled with warm sunlight, muted from the sheets of newspaper taped over the windows. She could hear car horns and street sounds outside. Her new friend was nowhere in sight.

“Hello?” she called out, voice rough from sleep. “You still here?”

Metal scraped on concrete and he appeared suddenly. He’d taken a chair and brought it onto the small balcony to sit, and didn’t hear her until now.

“Hi,” he said, lingering in the doorway awkwardly. She smiled and waved drowsily. 

“You can have your bed back,” she told him, grabbing her boots.

He walked closer and she noticed the folder in his hand. Her fingers paused as they were tying her laces. 

She swallowed. “You read it? The whole thing?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at it, face emotionless. He looked exhausted in more ways than one.

She finished tying up her boots and got to her feet. “Are you glad you did?” she asked softly, combing through her tousled black hair with her hand. 

He sighed, long and heavy. “I don’t know,” he eventually responded, voice hollow. “It felt like reading about someone else.” 

She nodded. Didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t have the right words.

“Thank you,” he murmured after a stretch of silence. He met her eyes and offered a grateful smile. “For letting me read it.”

“Of course. You can keep it if you want. SHIELD probably has tons of copies. I figured you’d wanna hold on to it.” 

“I do, actually. Thanks.” He was glad she offered. He wasn’t sure how he would’ve asked.

He set the folder down on the table and glanced at his fridge. “Help yourself to breakfast. If you can find anything worth eating.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do you even have real food? Or do enhanced individuals such as yourself go days at a time without it?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve learned to cope with starvation,” he said lightly, attempting a joke. 

“That’s sad. That’s really sad.” She shook her head in denial. “I’m on the run, too, but at least I take the time to scavenge for food. C’mon, let’s go find somethin’ to eat.”

She swung her backpack over her shoulder as she spoke. He watched her doubtingly.

“You wanna…go out?” he said. “In the daylight? I could’ve sworn you were part-vampire bat.”

She huffed a laugh. “Ah, so you do have a sense of humor. Nice. And I thought you were part grizzly bear, so I guess that makes us even.”

She grinned cheekily and headed for the door. He realized he had no choice but to follow her. Like he had anything better to do. 

The sun was so bright he wondered how she didn’t immediately pass out from heatstroke thanks to her all-black attire. He led her to the street market where he bought fruits and bread, looking over his shoulder, instinctively checking to see if anybody was following them. They weren’t exactly subtle given what she was wearing but luckily the only looks they received were from men staring at her jean-clad legs. She didn’t care but he didn’t like that. Not one bit.

“You’re gonna have to do the talking,” she informed him quietly as they waited in line to buy fresh produce. “I don’t speak Romanian.” 

He grinned. “You’re a spy,” he reminded her. “Don’t SHIELD agents know a bunch of different languages?”

She fidgeted uncomfortably. “I flunked out of high school and never even finished Spanish class, okay?” 

They were eating oranges and apples a few minutes later, weaving their way through the crowd, following the scent of pastries. 

Overall, not a bad morning. He couldn’t recall the last time he went and “got breakfast” with someone.

They didn’t rush to get back to his place. He showed her around, pointing to the small shops he previously worked at. She teasingly asked if he’d ever consider being a barista at Starbucks purely for the irony, and he laughed out loud. The sound was soft, like his voice in certain moments.

They took a quieter street on their way back. She was less willing to open up, mostly because she didn’t feel like she had anything interesting to say anymore.

“You alright?” he asked now that she was quiet, watching her dusty boots.

“Yeah.” Her brow furrowed, though. He pursed his lips, wondering how to help her.

Neither of them spoke again until they reached his building. “You still coming?” he said, pausing on the stairs.

She looked between him and the door, debating. “Do you want me to?”

She sounded unsure. Cynical, almost. Like she expected him to tell her to beat it, sick of her now. He felt the opposite. He liked her. Wanted her to stick around. It was nice to just…have someone. He didn’t know what they would become, if anything at all, but he wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. Even if it had barely been a day.

He shrugged regardless, wanting to give her a choice. He knew how important that is. “You can go,” he told her quietly. “I won’t stop you.”

She looked up at him. She appeared very small all of a sudden. Nearly childlike in the way her eyes grew. “But I can stay if I want?”

“Of course. Stay, go, whatever. You do what’s best for you, earthquake girl.”

He winked and continued ascending the staircase. She waited in the hall, trying to decide.

Then he heard her boots thudding quickly behind him, catching up. He smiled to himself. She chose him.

  

* * *

 

They carried on like that for a few weeks. She wound up renting a room at a nearby motel, one with two beds if he “wanted a change of scenery.” (Translation: if he wanted to prevent damaging his spinal cord by sleeping on that mattress.) She went to his apartment or he came to her. She got new clothes—still dark, but not all black. Dyed her hair again once when he was visiting, sprawled on the bed yelling at some awful soap opera on TV. She offered to trim his hair but he politely declined. 

Some nights they were awake until three, talking about everything and nothing. He’d refresh his memory by sharing what he remembered about the forties, about Steve. He told her what it was like falling off the train and losing his arm. How he passionately hates the new one. She told him about her friends at SHIELD, what each of them are like and what the early days on “the Bus” consisted of. She would smile when she mentioned Phil Coulson, a better father figure to her than her actual dad, who, as she previously informed him, turned out to be insane. Then there was Melinda May, the “tiniest, most badass” woman she’s ever met. It makes him smile, hearing her talk about her family. The family she forced herself to abandon to protect them. She cares so deeply, this girl. It was tearing her up inside. 

She never brought up Lincoln Campbell again. He understood why. He didn’t need to hear it twice. How she was dealing with losing him was obvious enough.

She knew the longer she stayed the easier it would be for SHIELD to find her. She was surprised but grateful they hadn’t already.

It was a rainy Saturday night when he finally slept over, but woke up in a panic due to a loud clap of thunder.

She jolted awake after hearing his body hit the floor. She quickly flipped the light on but couldn’t see him; he was on the opposite side of his bed. She threw the covers back to hop out of hers, hurrying to help him. Caught in a moment of trauma, he didn’t see her, head bowed between his knees, fingers locked behind his head. She knelt down a few feet away, giving him space but wanting to be near him. She waited until his erratic breathing evened out to whisper his name.

He heard her despite the roaring in his head, but couldn’t move or speak to acknowledge her, trapped by the memory of Hydra soldiers torturing him.

She crawled closer, trying to bring him out of it. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re okay.” 

He didn’t _feel_ safe but he knew he was. She was there. Of course she’d protect him.

She kept talking as she approached, eventually reaching out to brush her fingertips along his scalp the way you’d pet an animal. _That’s_ what he felt like: a caged animal.

He relaxed eventually, willing himself to listen to her soothing voice as it chased the monsters away.

He wound up holding her hand. Lacing her tiny fingers with his big ones. He stared at her through a curtain of tangled hair until he saw her instead of the faces of his abusers sneering at him. She calmed the hurricane in his soul with a single touch. Someone who claims to be a walking weapon of mass destruction just repaired a part of him.

“No one’s gonna hurt you,” she whispered, eyes damp, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

He nodded, closing his tired, tired eyes and letting his head fall back against the wall.

They sat there together on the floor for an immeasurable period of time. The storm raged on outside, but they were untouchable.

 

* * *

 

It had been almost a month when she told him she had to leave.

She showed up, dressed in all black again. He knew what she was there for: to say goodbye. His heart clenched the moment he saw her face. 

“I got a ticket to Florida,” she told him as he let her enter. “My plane leaves at six.” It was two PM, meaning they had only hours left.

He gazed at his friend—‘friend’ was still a foreign word to him, something he’d been denied for so long—not knowing what to say. His throat was prickly and his eyes stung. They stood there avoiding each other’s eyes, the darkest of silences settling between them. Not knowing where to start.

“Where will you go after Florida?” he ultimately managed to rasp.

“I was thinking California,” she said. “LA, maybe.” She shrugged. “Dunno. Wherever they haven’t looked for me yet, I guess.” 

“Do you really…I mean, why do you have to go? It’s…safe here.”

She smiled sadly. “Safe for you,” she added. “Not for a vigilante like me.”

He pouted slightly. “I’m a known murderer, Daisy. Your hands are clean compared to mine.”

“You’re a _victim_ ,” she corrected firmly. “And no, they aren’t. I’m still…paying for my mistakes.”

He huffed a sigh, but didn’t argue, not wanting to upset her. They got quiet again until she said, “And also, I…there’s just things I need to do.” 

He folded his muscular arms. “Like what? Rob more banks?”

She shot him a glare. “The Watchdogs,” she reminded him. “They’re hunting Inhumans. Spreading terror everywhere. I can’t stand by and let that happen.”

“But your arms,” he mumbled, nodding to her partially healed limbs. “You won’t be able to stop them if you keep injuring yourself.”

“I’ll run out of icer bullets eventually,” she snapped. “I was given a gift for this very reason. To use it, to save people.”

“Not always,” he said softly, dropping his eyes to the floor. “You…never used it around me.”

It took her a minute to realize what he was implying: that she helped him without ever needing her powers. Her kind heart was powerful enough.

When she didn’t say anything, he looked at her, blue eyes dismayed but soft. “You found me,” he whispered. “Made me not feel like a monster anymore.”

She scoffed, refusing to believe she’s capable of that when she’s a monster herself. “Yeah, well. I didn’t think you’d let me stick around.”

“I wasn’t gonna make you do anything. That’s why I gave you a choice that day. I said it’d be fine if you left, but you chose to stay. I didn’t know how much I needed that. How much I…” He paused, the words getting caught in his throat. “How much I needed you,” he finished, mumbling.

Her chest felt very tight. Tears pricked her eyes but she wasn’t going to cry, not in front of him.

It was a moment of realization for the both of them. He realized he needed someone after going seventy years believing he’d never get the chance to again. She realized she’s almost too kind, too caring, to love anybody, because losing them breaks her every single time. She didn’t think she’d be here for this long; she thought a couple days at most. She didn’t expect to _befriend_ the Winter Soldier, let alone grow fond of him. She assumed he’d push her away. She just wanted to see if she _could_ find him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said to the ceiling. “I didn’t think you’d get attached.”

“You’re the first person I’ve truly known in seventy years. Of course I’m attached.” 

She cursed, swiped her eyes with her shirt sleeve. “I take it you can’t come with me, though.” 

He sighed. Thought about it. Shook his head reluctantly. “No. No, I don’t do that anymore.”

She understood. Even if it’s bad people now, he had taken enough lives. He was still healing from what was done to him; joining Quake on the run wouldn’t be a good idea. If things were different, if he wasn’t afraid to follow her into battle after just escaping one, he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

The ability to choose and decide for himself was ripped from him. Now he was faced with a choice, one he wasn’t prepared to make, but knew he had to.

“I can’t,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. This is your fight. I’m still trying to win one against myself. But knowing you…made that a little easier.”

She nodded, touched. “Yeah. Same here.”

Hope is a precious thing. A feeling neither of them had until they met. 

Oddly, she knew she wouldn’t lose it when she left. Deep down, she knew that was the whole point of staying.

Hours later after sitting and talking once more, when it was time to go, he walked her to the door. “I’d tell you to call me but I don’t have a phone.”

She laughed. “You’re such a grandpa. You know that?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

They stood in the doorway quietly for a lengthy minute, then he said sincerely, voice ragged, “You’re a good person, Daisy.”

Her throat constricted and she clenched her fists so hard she almost tore another tendon. “So are you,” she whispered, managing to look at him.

He grinned softly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, an act of using his vibranium hand for gentleness. “Yeah. You made me believe that.” 

She hesitated, then took a leap of faith and wrapped her arms around him gingerly, pressing her cheek against his torso.

It took him by surprise; he’d forgotten what a hug felt like. They hadn’t initiated one until now. They’d never been this close.

He returned the embrace carefully, awkwardly maneuvering his arms to hug her back. His chin came to rest in her soft hair. 

Neither wanted to be the one to let go first, but she had to. Her makeup was streaked a little from her tears and the tip of her nose was pink. She held onto his arms, her small hands gripping the creases in his elbows. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.” She didn’t have to elaborate.

He nodded, forcing a smile. “I’ll miss you, earthquake girl,” he said. “Be safe out there, okay?”

“Can do, chief,” she agreed, and he grinned, remembering their first conversation. “Take care of yourself, too.”

“I’ll do my best.” He wanted to beg her to stay, he truly did, but he knew the significance of a choice. He wouldn’t make her stay, not when she had a duty to fulfill. 

Her fingertips almost left warmth in his metal hand when they finally let go.

She didn’t look back and he didn’t expect her to. He wouldn’t have wanted her to see him cry, anyway. 

He tasted salt on his tongue when he shut the door and sank to the floor, wringing his hands. He was back to having one person to live for, but now two to think about. 

Steve Rogers materialized in his kitchen three days later.

 

* * *

  

She doesn’t start with “So, how’ve you been?” or even an “It’s been a while.” Too formal. Not enough. 

He notices she’s still wearing her leather jacket. The same one she was wearing when they met and the day she left.

Her eyes sweep the room, reminded of the SHIELD safehouse she was sent to. This one is smaller, cozier. He has a kitchen, a sitting area, a fireplace. An open door leads into a bedroom. It’s obviously nicer than his dingy little apartment, but she feels like there should be a mattress in the middle of the floor.

He says her name softly and she turns to face him. “Hi,” she greets, almost shyly.

“Hi.” He smiles, because he really is glad to see her. In one piece. Healthy. Still beautiful.

“I was kidding, earlier,” she tells him. “I didn’t have to track you down. I asked Coulson if he knew where to find you.”

He raises his eyebrows, but nods. “Yeah. Stevie told me he’d have to file it somewhere. Guess this is why.” 

She smirks again. “I probably would’ve found you without that. I did it once before.”

“That you did.” He pauses. “Y’know, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you.”

Her face softens, her eyes—painted with very minimal shadow this time—dampen. “Me too,” she whispers.

“You take down all those Watchdogs like you wanted to?” He grins.

“Yeah. Almost all of them. I kinda got sidetracked by other things.”

“Long story short, you wound up back at SHIELD, right?”

“Yeah. It’s where I belong,” she murmurs, dropping her gaze. Her brow furrows. “They forgave me pretty quickly. Simmons even got me a new lanyard.”

He recalls a portly man by the name of Koenig excitedly giving him his own lanyard, and laughs. “I bet that made Koenig happy.” 

“Which one, Billy, Sam, or Thurston?” 

His face falls. “There’s…more than one?” 

“They’re triplets. Well, quadruplets if you count their sister.” 

“ _Sister_? Oh my God. I know nothing.”

He covers his eyes with his hand dramatically and she giggles. “Yeah, um…there’s a lot that’s happened,” she says quietly. “You were in cryo for a while.”

“You know about that?” Obviously that was filed, too. He shouldn’t be surprised. Are there no secrets at SHIELD anymore?

“I do. I also know you chose to go under. You didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

His throat thickens for some reason. “Yeah. No, I didn’t.”

She won’t press the whole issue yet. Doesn’t want to overwhelm him. “But you’re better now, yeah?”

He knows what she means by that, and nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Really good. I got a new arm and a cottage and everything.”

She won’t ask what happened to the old arm. She didn’t read the report—didn’t want to. She suspected it was grim, though. “You look good,” she tells him sincerely. He does; he’s wearing short sleeves so she can see the arm in full now. It’s sleek and silver like the old one, and she’s comforted he chose to receive it this time.

“So do you,” he says, trying not to be too obvious when he looks her up and down. “No more broken arms, huh?”

She runs a hand over her mended wrist. “Nope.”

“How are you, though?” he continues gently, hoping for her sake she’s been able to heal emotionally.

“I’m—I’m good,” she stammers, but there’s that look in her eyes again, that sad loneliness. Not as pronounced as it once was, but it’s there.

“Better, you mean,” he amends. “You don’t have to be ‘good,’ just better.”

That’s something he’s taken to learning. He can be having the worst day, just as long as it’s not as bad as it was last week. Recovery takes time. There’s no pressure to be doing good, just better than you were before. Healing isn’t about how quickly it takes. It’s simply moving forward. Doing better.

Silence falls. That seems to happen a lot to them.

Then, “I really missed you, earthquake girl.”

She doesn’t say anything. She goes to him, stands up on her tiptoes, and wraps her arms around his neck. He’s a bit more eager this time, knowing his own strength. He hugs her tightly, face in her shoulder. Her fingers card through his hair. He feels safe. Loved. He knew it wasn’t goodbye.

If it took eighteen months for them to reunite, it was worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated! thank you for reading.


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